George Gordon Noel Byron

Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that
Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice--
The read more

Think'st thou there is no tyranny but that
Of blood and chains? The despotism of vice--
The weakness and the wickedness of luxury--
The negligence--the apathy--the evils
Of sensual sloth--produces ten thousand tyrants,
Whose delegated cruelty surpasses
The worst acts of one energetic master,
However harsh and hard in his own bearing.

Just as old age is creeping on space,
And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day,
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Just as old age is creeping on space,
And clouds come o'er the sunset of our day,
They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,
But in good company--the gout or stone.

Kind reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;
Here Harod lies--but where's his Epitaph?
If such read more

Kind reader! take your choice to cry or laugh;
Here Harod lies--but where's his Epitaph?
If such you seek, try Westminister, and view
Ten thousand, just as fit for him as you.

Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber!

Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber!

Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing read more

Who doth not feel, until his failing sight
Faints into dimness with its own delight,
His changing cheek, his sinking heart confess,
The might--the majesty of Loveliness?